Brooklyn: Mortals
by Queen Kez the Wicked
Summary: *SEQUEL TO 'ONE RAINY DAY'* "Despite what we said, what we did, what we saw, despite what we thought... we were only mortal. And no amount of denial could ever change that."
1. The Morning After

**Brooklyn: Mortals**

By Keza: Queen of Procrastination

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AN: I promised a sequel. Here's your sequel. 

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Chapter Sponsored By: "Rocketship" by Guster. Great song.

****

Many thanks again to the reviewers of the first story. A bunch of you guys will be appearing in this, so that should be interesting. I know I left a lot of things untied, those things will be resolved (most of them at least) but not necessarily in the beginning. Be patient. 

****

Before you even THINK about reading this: You must have read 'Brooklyn: One Rainy Day.' If you haven't read that, this won't make any sense and you'll just get frustrated. Thanks.

+

Spot woke up, and immediately wished he hadn't. He lay on the top of his bunk, limbs strewn everywhere, half of his body hanging off of the side. His head throbbed along in time with dozens of other places on his body, a constant reminder of the horror that was the night before. It took a great amount of will to even force his eyes open, he wasn't sure if he wanted to face the morning. When his bleary eyesight cleared and he got a good look around the bunkroom, he longed to just close them and drift off again, free from worry, doubt… leadership. Instead he swung his other leg over the side of the bunk and jumped down, wincing slightly as the impact jarred sore feet. 

The bunkroom was a sight to see, that's for sure. Though filled to the brim with boys, both injured and healthy, this was just an illusion. Spot could see that many of room's usual inhabitants were missing. _My God,_ he muttered to himself. _How many didn't return last night?_

The chance that the missing boys were all dead was very slim. Still, it was possible that some had lost their lives that night… the attackers had been skillful at wielding the knives they carried, and didn't seem afraid to do permanent damage. But the greater portion of the boys who hadn't returned were most likely alive - maybe unconscious, or unable to walk. Spot closed his eyes briefly, unwilling to confront the product of what he, Brooklyn's leader, had led these boys into.

Others around the room were now rising, stretching from cramped positions on bunks or the floor, wherever they had been able to find room. Suddenly Spot was grateful that the Manhattan boys hadn't chanced the road home - he needed to be surrounded by friendly faces. For the first time in his life, Spot felt very small and alone. It wasn't a feeling he enjoyed.

"Conlon."

Spot looked up from the floor and across the room, meeting Jack's cold gaze. He glanced again at the assembled boys, then made his way over to the cowboy. A familiar smirk rose past his feelings and uncertainty and settled down on his lips, though it failed to reach his eyes.

"Kelly," he answered casually. "What's a b-"

"I think I may know who attacked us last night," he interrupted Spot's quip, deadly serious voice cutting through the light humor like a knife. Spot fell silent for a moment.

"Yeah?" he asked finally. "Tell me about it."

+

Mouse peered through half-lidded eyes, watching warily as Jack and Spot meandered away, talking in quiet tones. He allowed a sigh of relief to escape his lips and shifted uncomfortably on the bottom bunk, which he was sharing with two other boys. His eyes fell from Spot's retreating back to Taffy, who lay sleeping on the floor below him. Mouse closed his eyes, ready to fall back asleep, when raised voices alerted his attention again.

_"Blink isn't back, and Harlem didn't come to our aid!" _Jack argued. Mouse strained his ears.

_"Maybe Blink has a girl there! Harlem has always come through for us. There's no way it was them."_

"Yeah? Well they weren't there last night."

"So maybe they didn't know. Maybe Mouse never reached th- wait," Spot's voice hardened. Mouse's eyes snapped wide. His mind raced.

"Yes. Let's ask Mouse," Jack agreed, his voice now becoming louder and clearer. Mouse hadn't caught the prior statement, his mind was elsewhere, panicking, yet still planning. Footsteps on the creaky wood approached. With a cry, Mouse rolled off of the bunk and onto Taffy. 

"Bastard!" he shrieked. Those few who had still been asleep woke with a jolt and shot confused glances in the scrawny boy's direction. Jack and Spot hurried the rest of the way over. Taffy looked groggily up at Mouse, who was straddling him and gripping his shoulders firmly in his hands. Taffy looked the most confused of all of them. He started to protest, but Mouse silenced him with a good shake of his shoulders. 

"What are you doing?" Spot demanded.

"He's betrayed us all!" Mouse cried. Taffy's eyes widened in horror, but Mouse's knee on his throat kept any words he had at bay. 

"What the hell are you talking about?" Spot stepped up angrily and glared at Mouse. "He's the one who alerted us!" 

"Didn't you think it through?" Mouse asked, fighting down panic as he met Spot's eyes. "You got to Sling just as he was being surrounded. Or so Sling told me." Spot said nothing, but his silence confirmed this. "For Taffy to get from the alley to here, and you all to get from here to the alley… well, he had to have known about the ambush before it even started!"

Jack's face dawned with realization, but Spot's remained cold and doubtful.

"And how did you know this?" he asked.

"I've… I've had a lot of time to think!" Mouse explained hastily. "It just came to me now! And then I noticed that the bastard was daring to sleep right next to me. Like nothing happened between us."

Taffy's eyes glared daggers at him. He avoided them. Curiosity returned to Spot's face. 

"What happened between you two?"

"Ghuu othing!" Taffy rasped. 

"I never got to go to Harlem," Mouse argued, pressing harder on his captive's windpipe. "Because he stopped me!" He nodded his head towards several bruises and cuts on his body. "Those weren't there yesterday morning." 

"And you only told me this now?" Spot asked calmly. "I dunno, Mouse, your story has a lot of holes in it."

'The truth has holes in it then! He knocked me unconscious, of course I couldn't tell you!" Mouse protested. "This is what happened and you can think I'm lying, but we've been betrayed! And we have to root out the betrayer."

"Yeah," a tired voice said. Sling looked down from where he was curled up on a top bunk. "Root out the betrayer." He stared hard at Mouse. Mouse shifted uncomfortably, then turned and looked up at Spot.

Spot fought back a yawn, exhaustion and fatigue threatening to overwhelm him. Though Mouse's story did have its holes, he couldn't deny that Taffy was the most suspicious of the bunch. He crossed the remaining steps to Mouse's side while Jack looked on doubtfully. Desperate times call for desperate measures. 

"Get off of him," he ordered Mouse. Mouse started to protest, then realized that he had probably pushed the limits already. He backed away quickly and melted into the slowly growing crowd of onlookers. "Now, you get up," Spot told Taffy. The taller boy obeyed, shaking slightly. Then in a flash of fists and feet he was down again, his hand pressed to a bloody mouth. He spat out a tooth and tried reasoning…

"Spot, please, I-"

Spot cut him off with another blow to the face, then pulled him up and pushed him into the arms of a waiting boy.

"I'm gonna be nice cause I'm in such a good mood today, thanks to you," Spot said tauntingly. "So I'm gonna give you the chance to leave. You'se got about a minute to get out of Brooklyn, and if anyone sees you entering our territory again, they have free reign to do whatever they want."

Murmurs of agreement and satisfaction rippled through the bunkroom. Spot leaned forward, his eyes boring into Taffy's brown ones.

"Go."

Taffy wrenched out of the boy's grasp and fled down the stairs, but not before spitting in Mouse's direction. After a moment Spot nodded to some of the more healthy looking boys near the door. "Follow him," he said quietly. "I don't want to see the bastard again."

Spot felt better after sending Taffy out.. He genuinely felt better. Exercising his power like that always put him on a high. After the boys started dispersing to get cleaned up, leave, or head down to the distribution center, he found Mouse. 

"Hey," he said, catching the scrawny boy's attention. "Listen, I believe you, that's all that matters." Mouse nodded quickly in agreement. "Taffy. Never would have thought. But one last thing, do you know who he was working for?" Mouse shook his head.

"No, he never said anything. But he was trying to _stop_ me from going to Harlem, so it can't be them. Maybe the Bronx," he said. 

"Yeah… Harlem," Spot mused. He had a headache. "Can you go to Harlem today?"

"Today?! Uhm, I mean, yeah. Yeah, ok."

"Good," Spot said, wincing and rubbing at his temples. He moved off to find the Manhattan newsies before they left, thinking that maybe a drink would help him feel better. It usually did.

Mouse held up his visibly shaking hands and forcefully clenched them into fists.

+

More soon? Yeah. Review.


	2. The Morning After: Later

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Brooklyn: Mortals 

By Keza: Queen of Procrastination

****

AN: Mondie, I have one thing to say to you. "Whoa." 

Anyhoo, I know what's going to be happening in this story, but I don't know how it's going to end. As a result, so chapters could be changed/updated, so keep an eye out for a note telling you to reread a certain chapter. In other news, I now have a shirt that says "Lower East Side." IS THAT COOL OR WHAT? ("Pie-eatah, Snoddy, East Side!")

+

Ruin had heard her approach, and now he could see her shadowed reflection in the river's small waves. She stood silently, like him, neither willing to be the first to speak. Above, the sun continued to rise, and the sounds of newsboys bickering and laughing could be heard distantly. A normal morning, in the eyes of an 'outsider.' And even to some 'insiders,' it was normal. Perhaps they hadn't seen the worst of the carnage of the night before. Perhaps they didn't even know. Or, perhaps, they just didn't care. It was an event on the past, nothing to be dwelled upon.

Some surviving shred of Ruin's conscience reminded him that _he_ should care. That some of his friends may have not returned. That if he had been picked up, or even killed last night, people would have cared.

Right?

"You're ok," Spin said finally, stepping up and reaching a hand to his cheek. He turned his head away.

"Where'd you come from?" he asked numbly, his voice sounding strange even to his own ears. He had been standing here, on the edge of a dock, ever since Jack had come and left just as quickly. 

"Well, Heart's flat," Spin answered, a trace of hurt in her voice. "Remember?" 

Ruin blinked out at the water, then shook his bangs out of his eyes, wincing as pulled muscles were stretched sorely. 

"Yeah," he said, looking at her for the first time, but still seeming distracted. "Yeah, of course." 

Spin studied him, motherly concern in her eyes. Ruin shifted awkwardly under her gaze and looked at his fingers. 

"What's wrong?" the protective tone her voice took on annoyed Ruin.

"Besides the obvious?" he asked bitterly. 

"No. With you," she said, readying her patience for a long run. "What's wrong with you? Are you ok?'

"I'm fine." 

"You don't look it."

"I'm _fine!_" 

"Yeah?" Spin stepped closer and put a hand on his shoulder, leaning off of it like she sometimes did. Immediately Ruin spun away, gritting his teeth against crying out. Spin stayed where she was and looked down at her hand. Some blood showed on it, though not fresh. Most of the blood had dried and was matted to the back of Ruin's shirt. This kept more blood from escaping, but didn't stop the wound from being reopened, or prevent infection. 

"Don't do that," Ruin breathed after a moment. "It's still… still a little sore." 

"Well, you aren't selling today."

"I have to," Ruin said, not even considering her protest.

"No. We have to get you something for that. I know an infirmary that offers charitable-"

"I said I was fine, Spin," his voice was now warning. Spin glowered. 

"Either way, you're going to end up at a hospital," Spin snapped. "And I'd rather walk you to it than drag your body behind me!" She took a few deep breaths, then stalked off. Ruin stood in silent shock at even this small outburst for a few moments, then reluctantly followed her. 

+

"There's Jack! We can ask him!"

"Are you crazy? Break ends in less than two minutes! We can't-"

"Oh, stop being such a… a…" Misprint wrinkled her nose, trying to find a word. "Just stop! Come on, I know you're curious too." 

Mondie shook her head stubbornly, braids flying. One smacked Misprint in the cheek. She glared up at her friend, rubbing a hand to the spot.

"How do we know that Jack will know anyway? Maybe they just forgot!" 

Misprint rolled her eyes.

"We both know that neither Race _or_ Mush have ever forgotten a date. And anyway, Jack knows everything. So come on! No one will even notice." 

Mondie sighed, but followed her friend anyway. She always got roped into doing things like this. Both girls slowed, however, as Misprint called out Jack's name and he turned to face them. Mondie gasped softly. His hair was a matted mess, and his normally boyish face was coated in dirt and littered with cuts and dark bruise marks. Misprint cackled.

"Took for a little soakin,' Jacky-boy?" she asked mockingly. But Mondie knew different - she saw the wariness in his eyes.

"Mis…" she warned quietly. 

Jack just stared at the two in disbelief, as if not really seeing them. Then he turned and continued to walk away. Misprint and Mondie exchanged glances.

"Hey! Jack, I was just kidding," Misprint said, catching up to him and pulling on his arm. "We just wanna know where Race and Mush are," she added. Jack still stood silent, but his eyes turned upwards in thought. 

"Dunno," he said, went to leave, then turned back again. "Do you girls know what happened last night?" Again the two friends looked at each other.

"Erm… no," Mondie admitted, now worried. "What happened?"

"There was a fight in Brooklyn. A big one - we had to go help them."

Misprint's face turned a shade paler. Mondie cleared her throat weakly.

"Yeah? So you won, right? Where is everyone?" 

Jack looked down, scuffing his toe in the dirt. 

"Did we win? …I dunno. I don't know," he sighed. "The others stayed in Brooklyn last night, they'll be back soon," he said. Mondie nodded, finally allowing Jack to continue on his way.

"Mondie," he said before leaving, true concern softening his eyes. "Not everyone came back." 

Mondie watched him go wordlessly, then turned to Misprint. Her eyes were shut tightly. 

"I told him not to go," she was whispering, the words barely discernible. "I told him not to go."

+

It wasn't until Mouse was deep into Harlem that he got his breathing under control. His hands had stopped shaking, and he could finally think straight. A smirk rose to his face as he recalled the events of the earlier morning. He was very pleased with himself - he knew Spot didn't suspect him at all, he had known him for too long. And now he had even sent him to Harlem, the last place he'd want any of his little minions if he knew…

Mouse shook his bangs out of his eyes and continued to trudge along the streets, wondering what he should do next. Like Spot had asked, he had quickly left for Harlem, eager to escape the suspicious glances of the other newsies. But now that he had arrived, he wasn't sure what to do. Normally he was head right to see Silent, but with the events of the last night, that might not be the smartest thing to do. Silent had been sure he would gain complete victory, and Mouse had confirmed that. It hadn't happened, and so Silent probably wouldn't be in the best of moods. 

He stopped at the corner of a main street, hesitating. This was the street that led to the abandoned warehouse that Silent lived in. He realized that he was afraid to face Harlem's leader - very afraid. Before, Silent had treated him like an equal… but Mouse knew that that was all just an act. Ignoring the fact that he was just a normal, homeless, street rat like everyone else, Silent liked to use the little power he had to act like he was king of the city. He wouldn't be too happy with Mouse. 

Mouse shuddered suddenly and turned, walking back the way he had come. He would have to make up something to tell Spot when he got back. He'd done it before, it wasn't too difficult. Spot was so confident that Harlem would still back them that he never asked too many questions. 

Mouse jammed his hands deep into his pant pockets and bowed his head, pretending to be invisible. But he didn't try hard enough, and after only a few steps found himself on the ground. He had just run smack into someone, and had bounced back to the stones. The other, a burly, thug like teen, stared down at him, making no move to help the smaller boy up. Mouse scrambled hastily to his feet and tried to walk around the boy, but was stopped again. 

"You're Mouse," the boy stated in a growling voice. Mouse's breath quickened, but he said nothing. The boy's hand shot out to grip Mouse's arm tightly. He leaned down, "Silent wants to see you," he told Mouse's ear. Mouse whimpered as he was dragged towards the last place he'd want to be.

"Wait here," the boy said gruffly, shoving him into a dark closet-like room in the warehouse. "I'll get you when Silent is ready."

Mouse couldn't help but roll his eyes once the door shut, it was very likely that Silent was _very_ ready indeed, but wanted to show Mouse that he was in no hurry. Mouse started at a small coughing noise, surprised that someone else was residing in the closet. The other inhabitant didn't say anything, and Mouse wasn't about to make the first move, so he just stood silently near the door.

After five or ten minutes, the other boy returned and hauled him out into the main room. With the light from outside illuminating his former prison, Mouse was able to catch a quick glance of the other boy, who was curled up in a far corner. Mouse tried to put a name to the face as he walked to talk to Silent. He was frustrated that he couldn't remember.

Not many boys he knew wore eye patches. 

+

Parker gave the tawny skinned boy a last shot in the stomach, then walked off with his two peers, all three ignoring the boy's groans of pain.

Taffy rolled over, coughing blood and mucus onto his shirt. Tears streamed from his tightly scrunched up eyes, and he tried to sit up. Sharp pains in his ribs and stomach screamed at him, forcing him to fall back onto his elbows. He struggled to draw a deep breath and failed, coughing up more blood. Panic arose in his mind as he fought to breathe, but he couldn't, just kept coughing…

Finally he dropped to his back and half rolled, emptying whatever his stomach had left in it. With another groan he rolled away, head pounding. Saying that Spot's minions had done a number on him would be an understatement. 

This time he didn't even try to rise, just lay on the ground, deep in an alley, unable to move a step farther. Before slipping into the forgiving blackness, one terrifying thought entered his mind.

He was still in Brooklyn.

+

Mondie, Misprint, own themselves. Shortie and Falco ("Sky") also own themselves, they'll be appearing later.


	3. The Day After: Late Afternoon

**Brooklyn: Mortals **

By Keza: Queen of Procrastination

****

AN: Erm, thanks to Shortie-Short-Shorts for prodding me with a hot poker until I agreed to get writing. And thanks for the pie shaped confetti, that was cool. Also thanks to some good, depressing, Natalie Merchant songs to help me write this, and last nights heavy metal concert which secured me a good night's sleep. Enjoy the chapter, show it to your friends and family, and don't forget to review! Now, I'm off to go treat some third degree burns…

****

Misprint: No, no, Ruin and Spin aren't married… good memory though. -_^ That was just Racetrack being, uh, Racetrack. Oh, and One-eye and Blink aren't the same person, man, I really messed up the nicknames there, didn't I? Haha. Actually when I read your review I was like "hmm… you know, that's a good idea!" (to have Blink and One-eye be the same person) but, alas, One-eye is a Mid-Townie, as we'll see, soo… yeah. 

+

Spot glanced down at his papers, the afternoon edition. He was unpleasantly surprised to find that, by the looks of it, more than fifty were left in his stack. The headline was good, why wasn't he done yet? With a sigh, Spot dropped the papers on a bench and sat next to them, his head falling into his hands. A severe headache still wracked his skull, and a million thoughts swarmed through his mind, making selling a near impossible feat. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't get the images, the horrifying memory of the previous night out of his head. He thought about all the kids, boys both younger and older than himself, that he had hurt, some more serious than others, perhaps some even fatal. He thought about all the kids, boys both younger and older than himself, that had been hurt by someone else, some more serious than others, perhaps some even fatal. And all of it was on his account, it was all his fault, he told himself. He had gotten them all into it, and he had failed to get them all out. 

Guilt was not a feeling Spot was accustomed to. It was a strange, foreign thing that he could feel writhing in his stomach, making him queasy. He had never been able to admit to being wrong before, but there was a first time for everything. Spot opened his eyes and glanced around the area surrounding his bench. No one. No one ever sold around Spot's favorite place, of course. 

Slowly Spot stood up and walked away down the street, towards a dully painted sign advertising a cheap tavern. He walked with a bowed head, his hands planted firmly behind his neck. It only took him two steps to forget about his papers. It only took him two drinks to forget about his troubles. 

+

"Ok, Jack just came back early," Mondie assured her friend. "Our shift is almost up, we can go looking for them now. They'll probably just laugh that we were so worried. You can tell Racetrack that he owes you two dates now."

Misprint smiled weakly, lifting her head from her hands.

"Yeah… ok," she agreed softly. Mondie smiled in relief, glad to get the girl's spirits up a little. They had worked the afternoon in silence, each with her own thoughts to what had happened the night before. Misprint had known from Jack's haggard expression and hopeless words that it had been more serious than ever before. Mondie had spent the whole time trying to figure out why boys fought like that, what mattered so much that it could take someone's life just to get it. She never found an answer.

"There's Dove," Mondie pointed out as they left the factory later. "Do you think she'll know anything?"

Misprint shrugged.

"Maybe. Dunno if she'll tell us though." 

"Yeah, really."

The two approached a small bakery where a tall girl with dirty blonde hair was exiting. Her hair was tied in two neat braids and she had smudges of flour on her face and gray skirt. She was trying to get the streaks out of the latter.

"Dove!" Mondie hurried to the girl's side.

"Hello," she said quietly. 

"Looks like we caught you at the end of your shift."

"Yes." She went back to working on her skirt. Mondie exchanged glances with Misprint over Dove's head. Not only was she the quietest, shyest, girl they had ever known, she was also horrible at keeping a conversation going.

"Erm, have you seen Pie-eater lately?" Misprint asked casually. Dove straightened.

"Yes," she answered, meeting Misprint's eyes. After a pause, she added, "why?"

"Well, we heard there was a fight last night, and-"

"Oh," Dove interrupted, though still softly. "Yes. He mentioned that. He didn't look very well of himself." She offered a weak smile. "I was just going to see him now, near his lodging house."

"Can we come along?" Mondie asked.

"Did he mention any of the others?" Misprint said at the same time. Dove blinked slowly.

"Yes," she said after a moment, then walked off. Mondie and Misprint exchanged glances again, then Misprint shook her head and followed the girl.

+

"You don't look like much of a drinker to me, boy," a soft voice lingered in Spot's ear. He glanced away from his mug to see a blurry form perched on the seat to his right. He blinked his sight back into focus and studied the girl. Gorgeous. She looked to be only a year or two older than him, and probably an inch shorter. Curly brown hair framed a face with amused gray eyes. She rested her chin on a hand and surveyed him right back. Spot blinked again, then smirked and ordered up another drink. The bartender nodded and hurried away through the smoky darkness. The girl edged closer, shaking her hair away from her eyes. She received her drink and raised it a few inches, again looking at Spot with that amused expression.

"Well, what are we drinking to?" 

Spot glanced at the alcohol left in his own mug, then raised it too. 

"To…" He paused, eyes on his mug, a million answers coming to mind. To Mercy? To the newsies? To Brooklyn? Guilt? Troubles? Problems? Hate? His eyes darted to the girl's own expectant ones, and a new answer shoved the other options out of the way.

"To you," he said with a coy smile. The girl giggled, then answered his smile, eyes sparkling.

"To you," she agreed. 

The clinking of their glasses was lost in the noisy atmosphere of the tavern.

+

Pie-eater was right outside the lodging house, just like Dove had said. In a moment she was enveloped in his arms, her face buried in his shoulder. He had his cheek against her head, one hand stroking her hair. Mondie was horrified by the dark splotches covering his face. A cut covered with sickly looking dried blood resided above one of his eyebrows. His lip was split and his hair a mess. His fingers and hands too were swollown and bruised, yet he was the one comforting Dove. Of course, Dove was the type that needed comforting. Misprint fidgeted awkwardly, and Mondie smiled sympathetically when Pie-eater's eyes met hers over Dove's head. He broke away, one arm still hugging her close and nodded politely to the others.

"Girls," he said. 

Mondie was the first to speak.

"Pie, where are the others?" she asked curiously. 

"Everywhere," he told her. "Some are still in Brooklyn - Boots, Heat, Curly, but they'll be back soon… most everyone else is upstairs, and a few are selling papers," he finished. Dove said something to him softly. He nodded.

"I can get Mush for you," he offered. Mondie smiled gratefully.

"Thanks." 

He dropped his arm from Dove's shoulder and disappeared inside. Dove looked over and smiled sadly, Misprint frowned. He hadn't said anything about Racetrack.

A moment later Mush burst from the door and barreled into Mondie, who hugged him tightly back. Mush backed away first, his face not matching the joy expressed on Mondie's. His eyes fell to the ground, and he fiddled with his hat in his hands. Finally he looked up, but this time at Misprint. His face spoke of weariness, but his eyes were soft and comforting. Misprint felt safe under his gaze. But his next actions jolted her out of that haven.

"He…" Mush began, then closed his eyes. After a moment he met Misprint's eyes, but this time just shook his head before turning away. Misprint gulped, her lower lip trembling. She bit it firmly, her teeth coming close to breaking skin. Some of the pain helped to clear her senses. She looked over to Mondie, who was staring at Mush in disbelief. Misprint blinked a few times, then stared at the scuff marks on her shoes. 

"Hon," Mondie was saying softly. "You alright?" 

Misprint didn't know who she was talking to, herself or Mush. Either way, she didn't answer. She saw Mush's feet move across the cobblestones.

"…had knives," he was saying. "We didn't see him." 

"Are you sure?" Mondie was asked feverently. "He's so short, damned Italian, are you sure you didn't just miss him?" 

"Mondie…" A sad pause. "I'm sure." 

"Oh lord…" Mondie moved to her friend, trying to hug or comfort her. Misprint shook her off, tears welling in her eyes, and stepped away. Mondie stayed back, hurt but understanding. Misprint's knees shook under her, and without warning, she collapsed. 

+

"He went 'n there," Edge said, stifling a yawn. "I saw 'em go in. Left 'is papes out here 'n everythin. 'Course, I didn't take 'em, nah. But why waste a good sellin' spot? Thank you, sir." Edge rid himself of another of his own papers. "Ok, well, maybe I took a few, but 'e's not gonna notice, eh? 'N besides-"

"Thanks," Wood muttered, abandoning the rambling boy. Edge eyed his back, then shrugged to himself and continued talking. 

"Papes were gonna get all wet out there, with that darned dew and such, ya know, I bet he never even saw that bench was under a tree, oh, and who'd bother ta count anyway? Course, I would, but that's just me…"

Wood ducked into the tavern, blinking smoke away from his eyes. Slowly they adjusted to the gloominess inside, and he was able to make out Spot's lithe form lounging on a bar stool. Next to him was a short girl with curly hair. On closer inspection Wood saw that it wasn't Heart, and sighed. What was Spot doing now, when he should be selling? Wood made his way to the bar and took the free seat to Spot's left. He didn't notice until Wood tapped his shoulder.

"What're you doing, how many drinks have you had, and why aren't you selling?" he asked with a motherly tone. Damn. He hated sounding motherly.

Spot laughed and told the bartender to get something for 'his friend.' 

"A good one, Wood," he said. "But this one's better - what do you get when you cross a chicken with-"

"Spot, how many have you had?" 

The girl on Spot's right leaned over the bar, meeting his eyes with a dangerous look.

"Maybe you'd better leave," she hissed. Wood raised his eyebrows, taken aback by the unfamiliar girl's bluntness. But damn, she was beautiful…

"No, no, he's probably right," Spot said glumly, eyes on his mug. "I have to sell, or talk to someone, or… something." He managed to push the mug away and hopped down from the stool. Wood smiled with relief - he thought his friend was gone. 

The girl pouted.

"Don't leave!" she begged, her lower lip trembling. Spot hesitated. "You can stay a little longer," she continued. "Your friend is ruining our fun." 

Spot found himself back on the barstool. He turned to Wood. 

"She's right… hey, don't _you_ have some selling to do?" 

Wood shrugged.

"Maybe," he admitted, moving towards the door. Maybe Spot just needed some space… he had seen how he'd looked that morning - it hadn't been good. "See you then," he added, then left calmly. 

The girl shook her head with a smile.

"What an annoyance," she murmured. "And look, he didn't even touch his drink."


	4. The Day After: Late Afternoon

center**Brooklyn: Mortals**

By Keza: Queen of Procrastination

/center **AN: **This chapter is pretty short, because it's basically a bridge for the next stuff. If you read, please review, because it's a good way for me to know who's reading! Oh, and spontaneous plot twists are the best!

+

"Didn't take _you_ long," Silent spat, his gaze full of loathing. "And you'd better have some original begging up your sleeve." 

Mouse stood silent and shaking, his eyes wide and fearful. "Even mice have voices," Silent said after a moment. Mouse tumbled to the ground, felled by a hit to the head. Cringing, he rose again, trying to avert his eyes from Silent's own injuries from the previous night. "Tell me," Silent said, "what reason do I have for not laying upon you myself?" 

"I-I can still work!" Mouse said, his pulse quickening. 

"HAH!" Silent shot. "Just look where that's gotten you! Look! Look!"

Mouse finally forced his eyes to meet Silent's, and cringed. His face was covered in bruises, with an ugly gash by his collarbone. Mouse had seen worse that morning - but the pure hate that radiated from Silent's body made him shudder. Silent watched him with disgust, then stood up and walked by him, paused for a second, his back to Mouse, then spoke again.

"Where's Taffy?"

"Gone," Mouse mumbled. "I had to reveal him to cover myself up." 

Silent didn't flinch. "Oh?"

"But they don't suspect me now, especially not Spot, I'm sure of it!" 

"Well that's good," Silent said slowly. "Maybe you will still work…" He turned and paced slowly. "…but getting a chance like the one last night won't happen for awhile yet.." He stopped and met Mouse's eyes. "Will you still be able to get me the information?" 

Mouse nodded quickly. He started moving to leave, then realized that Silent was still talking - he was in one of those moods, and Mouse decided he'd better stay and listen. Though it might not be the best choice for his health, he could gain some useful information. Contrary to his nickname, when Silent got in a talkative mood, he was hard to shut up. Mouse stayed quiet, ready to ride out the storm.

"Because you know, it's not just some petty disagreement," Silent was saying. "I don't care about Brooklyn. I've got Harlem." Mouse nodded again. Silent glanced around the warehouse proudly, then shook his head and chuckled, "but oh, revenge, yes, I have a love of revenge." He paused and looked pointedly at Mouse. After a minute Mouse understood and cleared his throat nervously, then asked-

"And… uh, what revenge do you have with Spot?" 

"You see," Silent said, returning to his chair and leaning back, "Spot took away the one thing I loved the most. He tore it apart and threw it away… the one thing that kept me alive and living this rotten life beneath the streets - gone… of course revenge keeps me up now," he added fondly, then his voice turned somber again. "And what does Spot love more than anything? Brooklyn," he sneered at the word. "Everything is about Brooklyn, a dirty piece of land that he doesn't even own. But he's infatuated with it. I take Brooklyn away from him, maybe he'll feel a shred of what I still feel, even now."

Silent relaxed, done with his speech. Mouse bowed his head with mixed emotions, still confused. He chanced a question.

"What… what did Spot do?" 

"What did he do? Yes, what did he do," Silent's tone changed abruptly, full of bitterness. He had barely waited for Mouse to ask the question. "You think dear old Spot Conlon is too young and innocent to do anything? Well I guess this life makes you grow up fast. Fast enough that some people turn hard, you know? They lose their feelings, their sense of their own mortality. Or maybe they just go insane. I don't even remember what he was mad at me for. For all I know, I might have just won a few games of poker and cleaned him out." Silent's breathing was becoming steadily heavier, his eyes were scrunched shut as he thought of the past. "He raped my little sister, Mouse. _My little sister_. And it was all because of some petty problem between us, he found her, raped and beat her and left her on the street."

Mouse's mouth was a gaping hole. Silent's voice rose to a fevered pitch.

"And you wanna know where she is now, Mouse? Yeah? Well I'll tell you, they took her away from me! They took her away from me because they thought I had done it! And now she's gone! Some babbling mess in an orphanage!" 

"I'm sor-"

"LEAVE!" 

Mouse backed away, stumbled, turned and fled from the warehouse, ignoring the kicks and punches that slowed him on the way out. He didn't stop running until he was out of Harlem, heading towards Brooklyn… he halted and leaned forward with his hands on his knees, gasping for breath. He jumped, surprised when a hand landed on his shoulder. Spinning around he saw Ore's worried frown surveying him.

"Mouse, you alright?" 

Mouse stared at him for a few moments, the shook his head, as if that would scatter his thoughts.

"Yeah…. Yeah, sorry, fine," he mumbled. 

"Well… ok," Ore adjusted his papers and walked off the opposite way, shaking his head, suspicious conclusions already jumping to mind. Mouse watched him go and shuddered. Only yesterday he had been wondering which side he fought for - good or bad? Only yesterday he had had no cause, he had just done what he was told without much feeling - except fear. Everything had changed so fast… and for the first time, a new feeling rose up in his throat as he thought of Spot… no, not fear, never again fear - only a deep disgust, a taste of contempt.

He continued to Brooklyn, his mouth set in a hard line. 

+

"Jesus, boy! They done you up somethin' good, they have!" 

Taffy forced his eyes open, coughed violently, and stared up into a small child's nightmare. 

The face was owned by a boy, probably around sixteen years of age. A wide grin revealing a few crooked and chipped teeth stretched his whole face, and his one eye was a cloudy blue that always seemed to be staring past you. The other half of his face - Taffy winced - was a red, purple, and pocketed scarred mess, and his nose was permanently bent, probably having been broken many times before. He was dressed in a multitude of colorful rags, all of them grimy and crudely sewn together. The effect was dizzying. 

The boy stuck out a dirty hand, a nail missing from his thumb.

"Need a lift, do ya?" 

Taffy shook his head painfully, and managed to croak his decline. 

"Well they call me One-eye, fittingly," One-eye said, sitting back on his heels and brushing a hand over the ruined side of his face. "And the truth is that I'm known Midtown's most famous gambler, that I am. Not to be gloatin' a'course." He chuckled. "Off in Brooklyn on a whim, I suppose, though I miss the tracks already, I do. Nah, I'm just pullin' your leg, ol' Spotty boy Conlon was needin' a visit, though he had a fit when I called him that, he did! Mayhap that's why I'm havin' a spot - hah! Spot! Of trouble findin' him, and let me tell ya, I am!"

After blinking lazily up at the strange townie for a few minutes, Taffy found himself dozing off again. A few moments later One-eye noticed this and shook his head.

"Tsk. Well boy, you hold on while I find someone else to carry ya out, I'll do that, I will!" 

One-eye stood up, placed some crates to shield the Taffy from view, then slipped out of the alley. Taffy slept on in his own painful, dreamless sleep. 

+

"What, did you think I was just going to forget, Kid?" Silent asked, stroking his brass knuckles lovingly as he talked. Kid Blink quivered and shrank down in the grip of Briar, the thug-like teen who was holding him firmly in place. "He helped him, you know," Silent told Briar, still in his talkative mood. He glanced back at Blink. "Didn't ya, Kid?" 

"Silent, I-"

A blow to the stomach 'silenced' him. Blink doubled over, gritting his teeth. Without hesitating Silent punched upwards at his chin, bringing his head back up with a sharp crack.

"Didn't you?" he whispered again, his face an inch from Blink's own. This time Blink didn't answer, and Silent nailed him again. "Well?!" 

"You're insane!" Blink finally managed to gasp out. Surprisingly, Silent drew back, a twisted smile lingering on his face.

"You know, you're right," he said. "But that's not my fault, is it?" He didn't wait for Blink to answer. "Regret your actions now, Kid?" 

Blink finally cried out as the blows rained down. 

+


End file.
